


Unnumbered Year

by Stone_Princess



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-08
Updated: 2003-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stone_Princess/pseuds/Stone_Princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cliche challenge masturbation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unnumbered Year

Every night after we say goodnight and turn out the light I lie awake in the dark.

Lying carefully still, breathing slowly and shallowly, I pretend to be asleep until I hear Connor's breathing change and know he is asleep. But it's not always like this.

Some nights I'm lucky.

"Murphy?" Connor's whisper is so soft, I often think I'm imagining it, hoping it into being. "You awake?"

I stay still, my heart pounding though my is breathing shallow and silent. A long time ago I learned when not to be awake. After a few minutes I shift sleepily so I can watch him from under my lashes.

Connor always lies on his back as he touches himself. When I see his hand moving under the blankets, I have to hold my breath to keep the thud of my heart from filling the room. I watch as quietly as possible knowing soon he'll speed up, but not before throwing off the blankets and spreading his legs.

I've watched so many times that I know what comes next: he curves his back, pressing it into the mattress to bring his hips up as he strokes. I can see that his cock is different than mine although I'm not sure how. I think, as I squeeze mine once, I'd be hard pressed to say whose was bigger, but they are different. Sometimes I try to touch myself exactly as he does, imagining it's his hand on me. God forgive me, but my brother is beautiful.

As Connor's breathing gets heavier I take a chance rolling to my side for a better view. This is my ritual, if he ever knew he was putting on a show for me he's never cared. But I doubt he knows.

I love it when he gets close, his chin tips to the ceiling making a gorgeous line for eyes hands or tongue to follow: chin to throat, over the hard planes of his chest into the smooth curve of his stomach. I am so hard with wanting to trace that line. My hands twitch to touch him, to be what will eventually bring him off.

Connor jerks faster, tiny grunts issuing from him in time with his rhythm. His hand, reading my mind, traces over his abs, turning up to tug at his nipples and making his hips jolt and thrust.

His face twists up, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open as he gets close. A whisper always escapes him as come jets over his hand and stomach. I like to pretend it's my name he whispers. With the sounds he makes it's easy to do.

After using the corner of the sheet to clean himself up, Connor always rolls to face me as he falls asleep.

I wait and wait, working to keep my breath soft and shallow, my cock throbbing, my mind full. Eventually, like all nights, Connor's breathing changes and I roll onto my back, taking his pose, a hand on my cock, the other on my chest.

I close my eyes, remember the way Connor looked, how he touched himself. I try to recreate it, to feel him touching me. I start striking slowly, feeling the tension build in me until I feel constrained by it, then I throw off the blankets and tip my chin up to ceiling as I stroke faster.

I try to be quiet, keep my breathing slow. I imagine Connor hears me anyway and gets up and crosses the room. In my mind, I see him kneeling over me, encouraging me, telling me to do it for him. He is hard again, but not touching himself, just watching me.

I never last long thinking this way and it's always Connor's name in my whisper as I shudder my way into Heaven if only for a second.

Cleaning myself with a corner of the sheet I then turn to face my brother as I fall asleep.


End file.
